


you were a vision

by kopycat_101



Series: Nathmarc November [8]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Banter, Bi Disaster Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bipolar Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Boys In Love, Colors, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Disaster Marc Anciel, Gay Marc Anciel, Getting Together, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Marc Anciel Has an Anxiety Disorder, Mutual Pining, Nathaniel and Alix are Childhood Best Friends, Pining, Rated T for language and the boys being Thirsty, Slash, Teen Crush, Teenagers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Marc and Nathaniel get closer.And as they get closer, Marc learns more about his comic partner. His highs and lows, his health issues, the exact blue of his eyes. Nathaniel doesn't hide his medicine from Marc, or his ticks, doesn't hesitate to show him physical affection.As time goes on, it almost seems like…they’re flirting. Almost. But that was probably just Marc projecting.
Relationships: Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel & Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg
Series: Nathmarc November [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994782
Comments: 21
Kudos: 53





	you were a vision

**Author's Note:**

> For Nathmarc November Day 8: Your favorite song.
> 
> I literally started writing this Sunday, and it got to be past 4600 words and I'm not even sure how that happened--
> 
> Actually, that's a lie. It's because I have a curse. A curse where I can't keep anything short. RIP to me, but that means y'all get more content.

* * *

_“You're dripping like a saturated sunrise,  
You're spilling like an overflowing sink.”_

* * *

“Have you seen the newest hero yet?!” Nathaniel exclaims, all but throwing himself on the park bench next to Marc.

The redhead’s hair is messy, looking like a living flame as it flutters about him. He’s panting for breath, face split with a bright and wide grin, canines white and crooked in his mouth. His uncovered blue eye is gleaming like a sapphire held up to the light by a jewel appraiser.

Nathaniel is vivacious, enthusiasm and vibrancy dripping from every part of him. It takes Marc’s breath away, makes his fingers itch to start writing every single little detail in his notebook, write pages upon pages of waxing poetry for the boy he loves.

The writer simply blinks dazedly back at the artist. “Huh? N-new hero…?”

“Yeah! He’s super cool! His name’s Viperion, and he teamed up with Ladybug and Chat Noir to beat some music-based villain close to the Seine earlier today!” the redhead gushes, pulling out his phone and bringing up the Ladyblog’s main webpage.

Marc cranes his neck, but Nathaniel instantly scoots next to him, their thighs touching snugly as Nathaniel presents the screen for both of them to see. Marc fights down the blush that wants to warm his cheeks from the closeness, the casual way Nathaniel touches him that ignites his stomach and makes his breath hitch.

“Alya wasn’t close to the scene this time, so the footage was submitted from a different citizen that managed to film the fight. It’s so fast!” Nathaniel says, voice awed and impressed, before he clicks on the video.

Less than a minute. That’s how last the fight lasts against the Akuma.

“Woah. That’s _amazing_ ,” Marc admits, gaping. “I think that’s the fastest Akuma take-down to date! Minus Mr. Pigeon, of course.”

The artist laughs brightly, knocking his shoulder into Marc’s. “No one can beat Mr. Pigeon’s record! But this is definitely a close second.”

“This new hero—Viperion? He seems really competent and well-practiced. The way he worked with Ladybug and Chat Noir was astounding! The fluidity, the familiarity, the way he almost seemed to predict everyone’s moves, it’s _insane_ ,” Marc analyzes, finding excitement build in him. “He would make an amazing addition to their team!”

“Oh, he _totally_ would,” Nathaniel says wholeheartedly, nodding his head. “I hope we get to see him more! He’s so _cool_.” Then the artist wiggles in place, letting out a little squeal, and Marc finds himself laughing, utterly charmed. It’s like the other’s enthusiasm was spilling out from his body. He was so excited he couldn’t even sit still, couldn’t contain it.

“He is. His power must be something impressive. Mild pre-cognition, maybe?” the writer wonders aloud.

“Maybe? Probably. It seems like it’d fit,” Nathaniel laughs, kicking his legs. The boy was so short, his sneakers barely scraped the concrete. It was _beyond_ adorable. Less adorable was the smirk appearing on the other’s lips, impish and fox-like. “And, I mean. He’s pretty hot, too. So I _definitely_ wouldn’t mind him showing up more often.”

Marc finds himself sputtering out a laugh. “N-Nath, oh my _God_.”

“What? It’s the truth,” the artist says innocently, before giggling and shoving Marc lightly. “Don’t judge me!”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Marc says, grinning and putting up his gloved hands in surrender. “He _is_ pretty attractive.”

“See!”

“But you also think _all_ the heroes are hot, Nathaniel.”

“And they _are_. Bisexual privileges, baby,” Nathaniel smirks, shrugging and throwing a peace sign at Marc. Marc laughs to hide his cheeks warming in a blush from his crush flippantly calling him ‘baby’, even as a joke. “They’re all a smash, minus Chloe.”

“The confidence in your thirst forever astounds me,” the writers says in a faux-serious voice as he exaggeratedly shakes his head in disappointment.

“At least I can admit to my crushes. You won’t tell me yours,” the redhead teases back, knocking his knee against Marc’s. The writer jolts, suddenly feeling himself sweat nervously. He gives an awkward, high-strung laugh, but the artist just smiles warmly at him. “Don’t worry, you still don’t have to tell me. I just think it’s crazy it isn’t Chat Noir, though, whoever the mystery man is. Chat Noir is incredible and the ultimate boy crush material.”

“ _Not as incredible as you_ ,” Marc thinks fondly, warmly, and so achingly in-love it _hurts_.

But he doesn’t say that aloud. Not yet. He’s not ready to confess anytime soon. Maybe sometime…

* * *

  
“ _You're ripped at every edge, but you're a masterpiece,  
And now you're tearing through the pages and the ink._”  
  


* * *

Marc is used to Nathaniel’s enthusiasm, used to his bright smiles and chatter and readiness to talk to Marc and get to work.

The first time Nathaniel isn’t like that, literally dragged into the art room by Alix, he’d been surprised.

As time goes on, however, Marc’s learned more about his comic partner, more than simply what he’d observed as a shy wallflower and admirer of the other’s art. Nathaniel is a driven artist, and a hard worker, who has his art blocks and his difficulties. But Marc learns that Nathaniel also has depressive episodes because of his bipolar disorder.

Every time he has these episodes, Alix is there. Whether she’s there to drag Nathaniel to Art Club, or shoving herself on Nathaniel’s other side to accompany him and nudge him to talk, or just clapping the artist on the shoulder and telling him he can do it, Alix always seems to know what to do. She knows what Nathaniel needs, knows how to handle him, so well-practiced it comes naturally to her.

Marc is a little jealous, despite knowing that Alix is only this well-versed with Nathaniel because they’ve known each other since they were toddlers. But she can give Nathaniel a lot more support than Marc can, who’s awkward and bad to talking to people in general. She can say the right thing, and she even talks to Nathaniel in Yiddish when Nathaniel doesn’t want to talk in French.

Alix can do a lot for Nathaniel, as his best friend, while Marc just feels…lost.

“We don’t have to work in Art Club, if you don’t want to,” Marc offers softly, watching the other stare blankly down at his sketchbook, something the artist has done fruitlessly for the past ten minutes. Alix is nowhere to be seen, pulled away by Kim and Max, so it’s up to Marc to help his friend as best he can.

Nathaniel turns slightly to side-eye him, so Marc goes on with, “Where would you feel most comfortable to work at? Maybe we can go there instead.”

“I don’t really care,” the other whispers back, his eye flickering back down to his sketchbook, before looking over at Marc again. A sigh, as he says, “My art will look like shit no matter where I draw.”

“That’s not true!” Marc rebuts instantly, frowning at Nathaniel. “Art block may effect things like fluidity and your poses, but nothing that makes the quality drop to make it look _bad_.”

Nathaniel sighs once more, but this time the edge of his lips upturn, a shy and tentative little smile. “Yeah…?”

“Yeah,” the writer nods firmly, reaching out to close Nathaniel’s sketchbook, and then his own notebook. “C’mon, let’s go to my house. We can drink soda and eat chips and brainstorm. Maybe add in some chocolate. Chocolate’s always good to help get the ideas flowing.”

* * *

They get to Marc’s house. His Mamá greets them, bubbly and excited, and states she’ll make a portion of dinner for Nathaniel that’s Kosher.

The redhead stares back, uncovered blue eye going glassy and looking like he’s going to burst into tears just from the simple act of kindness, so Marc shoos him up to his room and goes about gathering the snacks.

Things go well, for the first half hour or so. They eat snacks, they brainstorm. Marc tries to be positive, but not overbearingly so.

Things are okay, until Nathaniel bites into a chocolate and then promptly starts to sob, and Marc all but _launches_ himself to sit next to Nathaniel, hands fluttering to-and-fro and unknowing how to really comfort the other.

Should Marc hug him? No, what if Nathaniel doesn’t want to be touched? But what if not getting comfort makes him feel even _worse…_?

Marc settles for rubbing the other’s back as the redhead wails and blubbers and hiccups into his hands. “I-I’m a _failure_ and I c-can’t _draw_ and, and—and our d-deadlines are c-coming up and we won’t g-get, get done, and it’ll be a-all my—all my _fault_ —”

“Hey, that’s not true! Not at all!” the raven-haired boy says, trying to go for firm while still being uplifting. “You’re _not_ a failure, and you _can_ draw, and we’ll meet the deadlines!”

Nathaniel stops sobbing in his hands to turn to Marc, not hesitating whatsoever to bury his face against the other’s chest. The writer freezes, his back ramrod straight and limbs all locking in place. But after a few seconds of hesitation, he carefully and gently rubs the other’s back, as Nathaniel wets Marc’s rainbow t-shirt with his tears.

The writer lets the artist cry it out, murmuring soft and encouraging statements until Nathaniel stops sobbing.

“S-Sorry for c-crying on you,” the boy says through his sniffles, voice wobbly.

“It’s fine. Sometimes we just need a good cry, and that’s okay,” Marc states evenly, still rubbing the other’s back. “Believe me, I should know. I cry all the time.”

Nathaniel gives a waterlogged laugh. “D-Do you?”

“Constantly. I cry so much, my moms have to stock up on tissues. We’ve got a stack in the bathroom cabinets,” Marc says, half-joking. “I’ll get you some tissues right now, hold on,” the raven-haired boy mutters distractedly, when Nathaniel finally pulls back from him.

“’Kay…” the redhead sniffles, eyes rimmed red and face full of tears and snot.

He still looks fucking gorgeous to Marc, like this. It’s probably—no, definitely—his crush talking. But Nathaniel looks so…rough and raw and achingly human. But he shouldn’t stare. That’s rude.

The writer digs the tissue box out of its place on his vanity, where his makeup is scattered about. He sits back in his prior spot, offering the box to the redhead, who gives him a wry smile and a little thank-you, ducking his head to blow his nose and dry his tears.

“You know…You’re not the only one working on this comic, Nathaniel,” Marc starts slowly, fiddling with the box in his hands, unable to look at the other from nerves. “I’m here too. I’m your partner. If you’re stressed about the deadlines—or anything about the comic at all, really—you can always come and talk to me…”

He glances up at the other through his lashes.

Nathaniel stares back at him, bangs tucked behind his ear to show both sea-blue eyes staring back at him, wide and bright. His eyes are rimmed red and his nose is pink and his face is blotchy, lips slick with spit and parted slightly in an ‘o’ of surprise. But that doesn’t stop Marc’s heart from beating double-time in his chest, because Nathaniel is so stunning Marc wants to scream it from the rooftops, wants to write and write and write until he runs out of paper, because he’ll never be able to run out of words to describe the other boy’s beauty.

“Really…?” the artist whispers, as if the moment is so quiet and precious, he doesn’t want to speak louder in fear of breaking it.

“Really,” Marc says, finding his hand reaching out to grip the other’s without him even realizing what he was doing. He opens his mouth, and a veritable waterfall flows out. “I know I’m just the writer, but I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’ll help with doing the typesetting, and arranging the speech bubbles, and spot-checking your work. I’ll even learn to help you color the backgrounds in the spreads, if I need to. I just…I don’t want you stressing and suffering, burdened by so much work, and trying to do it all on your own…”

The raven-haired boy almost thinks he’s said something wrong, with how quickly the other’s sea-blue eyes fill with tears. But Nathaniel is smiling and laughing, a sound so surprised and _relieved_ , it seems to take the tension of his shoulders with it.

And then the redhead was leaning forwards, wrapping his arms around Marc in a tight and warm hug. “Th-thank you, Marc.”

Marc feels his heart swell and beat staccato in his chest, and he lets the fond smile spread on his lips as he answers with, “Of course, Nath. I’m your partner. I’m here for you.”

* * *

  
_“Everything is blue,  
His pills, his hands, his jeans.”_

* * *

Nathaniel doesn’t hide his pills from Marc. Marc takes this as a sign that their friendship has progressed to the point where the artist feels comfortable with his health conditions around Marc.

They’re small pills, little blue ones that are round tablets. Mood stabilizers. His other pills, for his ADHD, are white capsules. Nathaniel has to take them at least once a day, and he needs to take them every day.

“I forget sometimes,” the redhead admitted sheepishly, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just get so caught up in drawing that it slips my mind. It’s bad, I know, but I don’t do it on purpose…”

“I can help you, if you’d like,” Marc had offered, instantly, without thinking about it. “I can remind you.”

And he does. Remind Nathaniel, that is. The artist had just…smiled at him, relieved and happy, a chirped out little, “Really? Thanks!”. That was all it took, really.

Marc would have done it for Nathaniel no matter what, even without his crush, without the cute little thank-you that fueled his heart and made it soar. Nathaniel was his friend, his partner. He was happy to help.

So Nathaniel doesn’t hide his pills from Marc anymore. In fact, Marc will quietly ask him when they’re together if he’d remembered to take them yet or not.

It’s a system they have, now. Now, it’s not just Alix looking after Nathaniel’s wellbeing, helping him manage his BPD and ADHD and stress. Now it’s Alix and Marc, with Marc quickly picking up the slack, figuring out how he can talk to Nathaniel about these health issues.

It’s not like Nathaniel is taking advantage of him or anything, either. The redhead has helped Marc with his anxiety many times, and even the occasional panic attack. They both have their issues they help the other with. It’s balanced.

Besides, Marc wouldn’t trust anyone in the world more than he trusts Nathaniel with his health issues. He feels…safe, with the other, despite the natural anxiety of Nathaniel doubling as his crush. He felt like Nathaniel _cared_.

And with every reminder, every blue or white pill swallowed under Marc’s watchful eyes, he knows that he’s showing how he cares for Nathaniel.

* * *

The writer can’t help but notice, with a little pride, how much closer him and the artist have become.

Nathaniel is more liable to show his idiosyncrasies around Marc as of late. How he drums his fingers when deep in thought, how he moves his hands when talking about something, the way he pokes his tongue out when he draws, how he pulls faces that match the expressions he’s drawing. He’d never shied away from expressing himself in these ways, letting more obvious signs of his ADHD through…But now Nathaniel is constantly moving and making noise around Marc.

Marc doesn’t mind it. It’s strangely comforting, hearing the steady tap-tap-tap of Nathaniel’s foot, and seeing the adorable faces the other pulls, and Marc always loves how expressive and enthusiastic Nathaniel can get when he speaks.

One time the artist tipped over an entire bottle of blue paint over his hands, and all he did was laugh brightly and smudge the pigment against his fingertips with a wide grin. He wiped the paint off not on paper towels, but asked Marc to flip to a free page near the back of his sketchbook and started smearing his fingers against the blank page. Finger painting, essentially, layering the pigment on top of itself to create a sea and a sky. Both were recognizable in the varying thickness between them, how the sea was layered more and turned dark from the paint.

The fact that he could turn his mistakes into something beautiful and creative and fun? That amazed Marc. The fact that he allowed himself to make mistakes and not let them bog him down? That also amazed Marc.

But Nathaniel was amazing in general, so it makes perfect sense.

* * *

One day, Nathaniel wears blue skinny jeans. A mid-blue, with rips at the knees and mid-thigh, slivers of tantalizing pale flesh that Marc finds himself riveted by.

“D-Did you get new, uh, new jeans?” he stutters out, when Nathaniel sits next to him, to cover for his staring.

The artist smiles back at him, small and crooked, pulling his bangs behind his ear. Marc is hit by the sucker-punch of both of Nathaniel’s eyes looking back at him. “They aren’t new, but I just don’t think I’ve ever worn them at school much?” the redhead wonders aloud, smile turning nervous. “Are they—do they look bad, or…?”

“N-No! Not at all!” Marc assures quickly, “I’ve just never seen you wear, um. Wear more ‘normal’ colored jeans before, I guess? Th-they still look good on you, though! Blue suits you.”

Nathaniel blinks those wide, sea-blue eyes back at him, before his cheeks turn pink and he’s ducking his head, smoothing the denim over his thighs. Marc wishes he could be the one running his hands down the other’s legs instead, then promptly internally berates himself, fighting down a blush at the thought.

“Y-You think? They, uh. They don’t look weird…?” Nathaniel asks, voice shy and something else that Marc can’t place, in his panic.

“I think they l-look great on you,” the raven-haired boy says, a little too honestly. When he realizes this, he quickly adds on, “The blue really brings out your eyes.” And then he digs himself deeper, because he can’t quit while he’s ahead and he’s a gay disaster, with “It makes your hair pop, too. B-Blue’s a good color for you.”

The writer internally screams and dies. Oh God. Oh Goooood, why is he like this.

Miracle of all miracles, Nathaniel doesn’t comment on Marc’s suspiciously complimentary comments. He just gives a little laugh and a ‘ _thanks_ ’ that sounds breathy to Marc’s ears.

The artist wears the same pair of skinny jeans the next day as well, and Marc isn’t sure if he’s proud or embarrassed that his suggestion actually convinced his crush to wear the color blue.

* * *

  
“ _And now I'm covered in the colors,  
Pulled apart at the seams._”

* * *

Marc and Nathaniel get closer. And as they get closer, Nathaniel starts to get more touchy-feely.

The writer knows the artist is a tactile person around Alix, and can also be so around him sometimes, but as of late…it’s gotten more frequent. More obvious.

Nathaniel will sit close, knock their elbows together or hip-check Marc out of the way or bump their shoulders. He’ll lean in close to look at something, to show the writer his sketches, close enough their thighs touch. He’ll put a hand on Marc’s shoulder, or arm, poke him on the cheek or lean against his shoulder when tired.

All these little touches are slowly driving Marc insane, like it’s pulling him apart at the seams. But in a pleasant way.

Every time the redhead touches him, he feels starbursts, fierce and beautiful, all sparkling colors and light. They fizzle behind his closed eyelids, and Marc will daydream the blue of the other’s eyes and the red of his hair and the white of his smile.

Every touch makes Marc feel like Nathaniel is painting on him, somehow. Marking him, even if nothing is physically there, because he feels it in his heart. Painting him in the colors of the rainbow. Or maybe Marc is just achingly, ridiculously gay for his comic partner and best friend. But can anyone really blame him, with how talented and dorky and hardworking and cute Nathaniel is…?

Especially with the way he bit his lip, or the way he tugged the bangs from his eye, or the private way he smiled when Marc paid him a complement. And Marc had a lot of compliments to give, he finds, though Nathaniel is quick to compliment him back.

It almost seems like…they’re flirting. Almost.

Especially with the way Marc’s voice would get breathy, or how he would giggle back at Nathaniel, or the way his face warmed.

Or how Nathaniel’s cheeks would turn pink, and he’d duck his head shyly, rub at the back of his neck. Or how his smile would turn crooked, boyish and impish, all gleaming teeth and crinkled eyes. Or how his sea-blue eyes would gleam and look back at him with an emotion Marc couldn’t quite place, their depths so easy to get lost in…

But that was probably just Marc projecting.

* * *

  
“ _And it's blue…_

_And he’s blue…”_

* * *

Nathaniel’s also started to wear more blue, as of late.

It always brings attention to his gorgeous sea-blue eyes, when he does, no matter the shade of it. If it’s a lighter blue, washed out baby blue, then it just makes Nathaniel’s eyes look darker and more prismatic. A darker blue, and it makes Nathaniel’s eyes look lighter and clearer.

The most eye-catching of these examples is Nathaniel coming in with his usual purple skinny jeans, plus a bright magenta shirt and a blue hoodie. The color combination doesn’t really hit Marc until the other boy is sitting next to him and gushing about something-or-other that Chat Noir’s done, leaning in close to show Marc his phone, their elbows and shoulders and thighs pressed flushed together.

“You consider wearing that outfit for next Pride?” he asks, after the artists finishes giggling over Chat Noir, a strange pang of jealousy in his chest.

“Hm…?” Nathaniel blinks, moving his bangs behind his ear to look up at Marc. This close, his eyes almost knock Marc out, but he manages to keep coherent. Barely.

“Y-You, uh. You look almost like, um, like a walking bi pride flag,” he laughs after his awkward stuttering.

The artist leans back, looking down at himself. He passes a hand down his chest, then rubs at one of his thighs—Marc’s eyes hungrily and traitorously following the motions—before the redhead takes the chord of his hoodie and twirls it around his finger. “Guess I am, huh?” the artist giggles, looking up at Marc through his lashes. He shrugs, then asks with a little smile, “Is it a good look?”

The raven-haired boy feels his heart beat in double time. The redhead was…sort of acting like he was flirting. Like, flirting for real. Like, _really flirting_.

Was this supposed to be some sort of sign? After all, Nathaniel was wearing the colors of the bisexual flag. But was Marc just projecting? Just because Nathaniel is bi, that doesn’t mean he’s obligated to flirt with Marc, to like him back…

But God, does Marc wish he would.

So he does it. He darts his eyes down, dragging them up Nathaniel’s body, taking in the other boy in front of him. Very obviously checking him out. And then he smiles, something he tries to make confident, but is probably shy and awkward instead. “I-I think it—it suits you. Really well.”

“Then I guess I could save it to wear at next Pride,” Nathaniel starts lightly, raising his head and grinning beatifically at Marc, “Or I could use it right now to take you out on a date.”

Marc feels his heart skip a beat, or three. Or maybe his heart just stops completely. He’s not sure.

Is he dead? No, he can’t be. He can feel Nathaniel’s knees pressing against the outside of his thigh, can hear his own sharp intake of breath, can taste his strawberry lip gloss as he nervously licks his lip.

His face burns hot like a furnace, and he manages to squeak out, “I-I—I—I’d like that!”

The redhead just smiles wider at him, pale cheeks flushing pink. “Oh. C-Cool. I’ll, uh. I’ll admit, though, I half-thought that wouldn’t actually work?” He gives a little laugh, looking dazed. “ _Wow_. Alright.”

Marc just gapes back at him, unabashedly. “Y-You didn’t even—didn’t even know I-I would accept, and you st-still…”

“Yeah. I mean, I’d hope literally dressing as the bi flag was, um, enough to help it actually work?” Nathaniel giggles, eyes darting away before finding Marc’s again. “Guess I was right.”

“You were,” the writer admits, giggling along as well. He felt so elated, he was on the edge of being hysterical.

The next thing Marc sees is the blue of Nathaniel’s eyes as the redhead leans his head closer to him, before he’s letting his eyes flutter shut as the other boy kisses him, sweetly and gently.

* * *

“Get a room, you two…!” Alix hollers, and Marc suddenly remembers where he is with the same shock as if he’s been dumped inside an ice bath.

The two boys part quickly, eyes wide and wild, mortified that they’d forgotten they were still in Art Club. Nathaniel’s gone as red as his hair, and Marc doubts he’s in any better state right now.

The rest of the girls are giggling and clapping for them, much to Marc’s mingled joy and embarrassment. He feels the distinct need to hide in his hoodie. So he does, bringing up his hood as a shield.

“While I’m happy for you boys,” Mr. Carracci starts, smiling kindly, eyes gleaming with pride and amusement, “I’d also like to remind you both of the school’s rules on PDA, and offer that the two of you leave earlier than usual to enjoy your new relationship.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, Mister, right away!” Nathaniel sputters out, chair scraping loudly as he shoots to his feet, frantically shouldering his bookbag. Marc is right behind him, also putting his backpack on.

The two duck their heads and speed-walk to the exit while Rose screamo-yells at them in joy, and Alix wolf-whistles wildly at them.

* * *

The two boys make their way quickly out of the school, only stopping to breathe once they hit the sidewalk, the blue sky slowly turning golden.

Marc looks over at Nathaniel—his new boyfriend? Is that what they are now? Boyfriends?—and is entranced by the other’s eyes once again.

The redhead’s face is still flushed, his stance of someone who’s deeply embarrassed, shoulders nearly hiked up to his ears and one arm bent awkwardly to clutch at the other. But his eyes are bright and filled with joy and awe, as they stare back at Marc.

It feels like the sea itself is in Marc’s body, waves crashing through his veins.

Marc carefully puts his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs into the blue material. He hears Nathaniel’s breath hitch, watches as those pupils blow wide, swallowing the sea-blue color, face a deep pink and nearly drowning out his cute freckles.

“Can we try that again?” Marc asks, voice dipping down low as it leaves his throat in a rasp.

Nathaniel’s answer is to surge up on his tiptoes when Marc leans down, their lips meeting like rising tides of the ocean, sweeping them both away.

* * *

_“Everything is blue._ ”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from Colors by Halsey.
> 
> I've been wanting to write a fic using this song, actually! I like Halsey's music, and Colors is one of my favorite songs from her. I sometimes even use it to sleep when I've got insomnia. Weird thing to say, that one of your favorite songs can put you to sleep, and its a compliment. But that's just how I roll ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyways, thoughts, concerns, likes and dislikes? You know where to put em.


End file.
